


two less lonely people in the world

by writingpenguin



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, M/M, POV Experimental, POV First Person, POV Second Person, Vicchan - Freeform, inspired by Kita Kita, shift from second person to first person narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 16:58:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11627871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingpenguin/pseuds/writingpenguin
Summary: "Life can be defined by an innumerable amount of moments in time, Vitya, but you—You have defined me with ten."





	two less lonely people in the world

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is an experiment that I've been trying for my writing style. I don't usually work with first person and second person narratives, but I wanted to try something new. The counting narrative (or whatever you want to call it) is inspired by the Filipino indie movie, _[Kita Kita](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QbHpyjrGdpc)_. I don't know if any of you would be interested in it, but it would be hard to watch if you're not from the Philippines so??
> 
> The title is taken from the [song of the same name](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=30bYxPnOz0Q), which was covered by a local artist for the movie's OST. 
> 
> This work is unbeta-ed. (sorry.)

When your life is defined more by what you should have—could have, would have—done, rather than what you actually did, you start to lose sight of the purpose of it—if you’ve ever truly known it. You’re lost in that space between giving up and pushing on; you drag yourself down with an endless spiral of  _ what-ifs,  _ and you drown and drown and drown and you’re wasting your potential away because what’s the point, really, if you were never good enough in the first place? 

You never truly know until you try, right? 

Wrong.

You know. You know deep in your bones that you’ve peaked. You know that your mind can only take so much doubt, and that your body can only take so much abuse. Is it worth it? Are you worth it?

Yes.

Yes.

_ Vicchan. _

No. It’s not.

I’m not. I wasn't— 

But then, there you were.

Victor. 

Life can be defined by an innumerable amount of moments in time, Vitya, but you—

You have defined me with ten.

 

_ One.  _

 

You gave me a dream. I was twelve when I first saw you dance across the ice on a small TV screen, and you were wonderful and beautiful,  _ anata. _ You have to understand, Vitya. I was shy, and though I didn’t know it yet, afraid of the world. But suddenly, there you were, and then I wanted to be like you—and skate like you, and talk to you, and compete against you.

I wanted to be the one to stand on that ice and steal the gold from you with the grit and grace endured by my own two feet and—

 

_ Two.  _

 

Two minutes and twenty-three seconds. That’s how long your short program was in the 2004–2005 season. You were sixteen then, and it was your last year in the junior division. You were crowned with blue roses, and you looked so happy—and of course you did, you did just break a world record.

You know I love your routines. Yuuko and I skated that one for months. We downgraded your jumps to singles and doubles, but the majesty of it never wore off. We had so much fun, and even Takeshi joined us—we skated circles and figure-eights and memories. We were together a lot, the three of us, at least until Yuuko and Takeshi started dating. And then it became the two of them—and oh,

You know the triplets.

 

_ Three _

 

The three of them were born in 2010. That was the year of the Olympics, and yes, I know you’re wondering what exactly you have to do with this, but hear me out!

While you were skating your way to gold, Yuuko was in labor. She was screaming, Vitya. She was screaming because she couldn’t see your free skate live, and it took hours for the triplets to be born, and—

Beyond their mother’s apparent love for our sport, have you ever wondered why they were named Axel, Lutz and Loop,  _ anata? _

In your Olympic free skate, you spontaneously managed a triple axel with a perfect +3 GOE. You also performed an amazing triple lutz-triple loop combination that Yuuko—we—couldn’t get over. She watched your programs the moment after she gave birth, you know. “The world has been blessed with my children and four-and-a-half minutes of unparalleled glory,” she said, and I wanted to try. I wanted to try so hard that—

 

_ Four _

 

Vicchan was four when I decided to leave for Detroit. Minako pushed me to go when she realized that I couldn't train quads with the local coaches near home. They never competed internationally. They wouldn't know. I needed a proper coach—how else was I going to be able to reach you, Vitya? Celestino was more than a decent coach, and I knew that. But.

Do you know what it’s like to leave everything you knew behind, Vitya? It was terrifying—and half the time, I was wondering if I could do it, if I was good enough, and I so very much wanted to be because I loved the ice and though it wasn’t the same way as I do now,  _ I loved you, Victor _ . I love you still and always will.

I loved Vicchan too. And that was the last time I saw him beyond the pictures and the videos that my family would send me over the years.

Years.

 

_ Five _

 

I didn't see my family for five years, Vitya, but I tried to convince myself that it was fine. I left to learn, to be better, and my efforts were finally paying off—I qualified for the Grand Prix Final. I finally got to compete against you! I was so excited (and nervous)—I wanted to talk to you, and I hoped that you would see me. (Acknowledge me.) I wanted so much for my dreams to come true and—

Oh, Vicchan died.

Vicchan died, Vitya.

 

_ Six _

 

I fell to sixth place—I was last after a disastrous free skate where I popped half of my jumps because I wasn’t  _ there _ . I wasn’t there,  _ Vitya.  _

I failed.

So I wallowed. I hid myself in a bathroom stall to cry because:

What was the point of those five years? Why did I leave my family and get my hopes up—and get their hopes up—when I should have realized that seventeen years of skating (of doing something that I once loved) aren’t enough to change the hundreds of voices screaming in my head?

(And the thousands of voices yelling at me to retire because they thought I wasn’t good enough)

Then there you were.

Victor Nikiforov.

First place. Gold medalist. You were wearing a red and white Russian team tracksuit when you passed by me.

You said my name.

But oh—you weren’t talking to me, obviously. Yuri Plisetsky.  

He screamed at me in the bathroom. Have I ever told you that?

How embarrassing.

You asked if I wanted a commemorative photo. Did you think I was a fan, Vitya? Or did you actually think that I wanted to commemorate a performance so terrible? (Yours was, without a doubt, amazing and ethereal, but I scored a hundred points lower than you, or maybe you didn’t know—you probably didn’t know.)

And that was okay. (No, it wasn’t.)

But it hurt.  _ It hurt so much, Vitya. _

I wanted to stop. I didn’t want to see you—not just you, but all of you—

 

_ Seven _

 

The banquet started at seven that evening. I arrived half an hour later, not that anyone noticed—nor should they have. Celestino was the only reason I was there. You were talking to sponsors, Vitya.

Another half-hour later and I had already downed eight flutes of champagne. My memory was hazy at this point, Vitya, so forgive me, but the last thing that I remember was you watching me. I thought you must have found me disgusting—getting drunk at an ISU-sanctioned event?      

What a joke.

But.

But you told me that was the best night of your life. I can barely recall anything from that night,  _ anata,  _ but I’ll take your word for it. I had another eight flutes of champagne, I think. I lost count after that.

What did you say happened, Vitya?

Oh,  _ yes,  _ the dancing. Did I dance the flamenco with you, my love? How many turns did we have? Are you sure I did  _ that,  _ Vitya? Did I really challenge Yura? Twice? I won, right? You want me to pole-dance again, don’t you?

(You once mentioned how empty you felt before that, and I—I didn’t know that gold could be so suffocating. I didn’t know that the top could feel so lonely.

I’ll dance for you—with you—anytime you want. Whatever makes you happy, Vitya.

After all, you’ve made me happier than words could ever express.)

 

_ Eight _

 

… Did you really watch that video eight times, Victor? 

You came barging into my life on April. It was snowing that day. (Snow in April, Vitya? Does the ice really love you so much?) 

It was four months since I last saw you, and you have to consider the fact I didn’t—and I still don’t—remember the banquet. It was a shock to the senses to see you.

Because there you were. Naked. Standing in all your bare-faced glory. Proclaiming that you were going to be my coach.    

You didn’t know what you were getting into.

Eros and Agape and all that was in-between.

Did you actually think I wanted you to be anyone other than who you truly are? You are Victor Nikiforov, and you are mine. I have stolen you from the world. You are Victor. You are Vitya. You are—

—you are the first person I’ve ever wanted to hold on to.

You were laughing, I was laughing, and Yura was laughing; the three of us painted the night sky with sparklers and the souls that we bared out to the world.

But still, you didn’t know what you were getting into.

There were eight minutes and forty-three seconds left until my free skate, and you stood there in front of me in the wide empty space of a parking lot. You made me cry. Stupid, Vitya. You don’t tell people that you’re going to leave them when they’re having anxiety attacks. You stay by them. You stay by their side, and trust me when I say that that alone is enough.

You are enough.

 

_ Nine _

 

You were more than enough, and you deserved so much more than just a dime-a-dozen skater. You deserved more than coaching someone with a measly 97.83 for their short program score—you deserved gold and not a fourth place start in the Grand Prix Final. 

You deserved more than the nine chimes of church bells ringing in Barcelona and the two shaky hands that pushed a single gold ring onto your finger, like you were theirs to claim. You deserved, you deserved—    

And yet, you were happy.

And yet, you wanted to stay.

You still wanted  _ silver  _ (not gold) Katsuki Yuuri. You still wanted me.  

 

_ Ten _

 

And this is the moment where I realize:

You love me, and you are happy with second place, and there are less than three weeks left until Japanese Nationals (and Russian Nationals, Vitya), and you’re drilling my quad flip, and you kiss me five times when I fall, and _you have to practice too—it’s been over six months since you’ve last competed, Vitya,_ and we’ll just be apart for seven days, _anata,_ and it takes eight seconds for you to spot me in the airport when I return, and I’ve discovered that you have exactly nine moles spread across your body that night, and—

Victor.

Life is defined by an innumerable amount of moments in time, Vitya, and I can’t wait to spend the rest of mine with you.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Translation notes:
> 
> * _anata_ \- literally translated as _you_ but can also be considered as a Japanese endearment used between lovers
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated!
> 
> I sometimes lurk on Tumblr [here](http://theaveragepenguin.tumblr.com/).


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